Disclaimer: I do not own Petshop of Horrors. The pre-eminent Matsuri Akino does. Not I.
Preliminary Notes: This story occurs just after the Donor episode in volume 7 of the manga. Count D appears in this chapter! And Chris! Oh, yes, and in case you didn't know, this is a YAOI (Leon x Count D) fic. Just a warning to the homophobic.
Delirium by spare
Chapter 2: The First Night
/A face identical to his. Except hers wore an expression of utter heartbreak, and his was one of sadness and pity. And fear. Yes, he was very much afraid. "Xiao Mei..." he began, trying once more to placate her, to explain to her everything she refused to know. "I... I'm sorry." He sighed, drawing her closer. "Now, listen to me very carefully..."
Nue Ehr lunged at him then. He evaded most of the blow, but she was agile. Razor sharp nails grazed his neck. She licked the blood -- his blood -- dripping down her fingers.
He stared at her in shock. "Xiao... Xiao Mei...?"
Her face was a tragic combination of childlike innocence and complete lunacy. A face that so resembled his. "If Da Geh doesn't need me," she uttered, "then I don't need Da Geh!"
She launched herself at him then. "With Da Geh gone, maybe Daddy will like me the most!"
The pets fell upon her in an instant.
The order to stop them died on his lips. He had to watch as the pets hacked her to pieces. It seemed to go on forever, but, finally, they were done.
She lay there on the floor like a broken doll. She was covered all over with cuts and gashes. Her back was hacked open.
/Xiao Mei.../
Her eyes. He could never forget how they looked right then, shining with such unquestioning love and trust for Father.
And he was partly to blame. In the end, he could not bring himself to shatter such faith by exposing the truth about their Father. In the end, he was forced to tell her comforting lies, cradling her in his arms as the life faded from those innocent eyes.
Mismatched eyes, one golden, the other violet, flutter open. He sat up over the bed, the pearl-gray robe he wore clinging to his spare, graceful form. As the last vestiges of sleep left his eyelids he became aware that, of course, he had been dreaming. Not that it would make any difference to their kind whichever state they were in. It was real, all the same. His feelings made it real.
/Damn you, Father.../
x x x
[LAPD Headquarters, 1:27 pm.]
"I don't believe any of this."
"You better," the guy at the forensics lab sighed, running a hand through a shock of carrot-colored hair. "I spend half the night running through the tests, and /this/ is what I get? Screw you. Gomez, too. Tell him that, if you ever see the bastard."
"Tell him yourself," Leon retorted tiredly. Gomez had been sent another case to work on -- that of the chopped up body parts of an as yet unidentified woman turning up at different suburban landmarks. The pimple-ridden kid whose ID read Ike Keiferson, Jr. knew that as well as he did.
Earlier this morning, Leon had made his way upstairs, cursing quietly to himself, fresh from an hour-long lecture about proper police procedure that, in Orcot's case, had to be summarized as: keep your hands off the evidence, dammit. The Chief had raised hell once he found out about his little mishap with the plant. And that not six seconds after inquiring about Leon's health in a fatherly tone of voice. Upon confirmation that his subordinate was hale and hearty, so to speak, the police chief had proceeded to give him the upbraiding of his life.
Freed at last, he had headed to the department's forensics lab.
The plant had deteriorated at an alarmingly fast rate. He and Gomez watched as all around them, the plant-thing shrouding Renaud's apartment browned and withered and crumpled, its narrow leaves weightlessly swirling about before settling down and breaking away into dust -- and then, into nothing. The branches followed suit. It was as if the very air around them had become fire, igniting and destroying any part of the plant it touched. By the time the other cops arrived at the scene, not a trace of the monstrous thing could be found. If not for one respected book agent's testimony and the fact that he and another officer had seen it with their own eyes, Leon wouldn't have believed the plant that ate the novelist was ever there.
It had all been as clear as day. Somehow, Sean Renaud had acquired a plant that, quite literally, grew on him a little too much. It was a bizarre, macabre, and utterly horrible way to die. And when it came to bizarre, macabre and horrible deaths, who else was much connected to the subject than the Count and his petshop of horrors? It /was/ a plant that did the author in, to be sure, but hadn't the petshop owner given him flowers and other weirder things with leaves on several occasions? The stuff had not killed him (/yet/, he mentally reminded himself), true, but who knows what other types the Count could have given to his other customers?
This might just be the case to nail D down once and for all.
Now this carrot-haired runt was telling him that, as a point of fact, it was not the plant that killed the famous author. Rather, it was...
"There were patches of semen on his genitals, as well as the front of his pants," the kid insisted in earnest. "Loads of it."
Leon shot him an incredulous look. "So you're telling me this guy was killed by a wet dream? Jesus..."
Keiferson junior was quiet for a moment. Finally, he shook his head. "Not exactly," he said. Hesitating, he continued, "Traces of pollen were found in what was left of his stomach and intestines. The substance is slow to act, but highly toxic. In Renaud's case, it took about three weeks for it to fatally affect his system, but--"
"I knew it!" Leon exclaimed triumphantly.
"Knew what?" the forensics guy inquired.
He wasn't getting any replies, however. Leon had bolted out of there before he could even utter the first half of his question.
x x x
[Count D's Petshop, 2:41 pm.]
An insistent knocking on the ornate double door.
Bang. Bang. BANG!
Unhurried, a tall, slender figure attended to it.
Creak.
"D!!!"
"And a good afternoon to you, too, my dear Detective."
/"Big Bro!!!"/ A seven-year-old, mirror version of said LAPD operative rushed to the door, tackling down the elder Orcot by way of welcome.
Leon barely managed a surprised yelp before the other animals trailing behind his sibling followed suit.
"Your timing is perfect, as usual. We were just about to have tea," the Count declared, his faintly accented voice conveying a quiet amusement at the display of brotherly affection.
/"We baked cookies!"/ Chris piped in helpfully. Noticing that T-chan was conveniently positioned right where he could block the blonde officer's windpipe, the boy quickly pulled the struggling totetsu away as he and the other pets extricated themselves from aniki's (1) prone, swirly-eyed and twitching form on the floor. /"Uh, sorry 'bout that, bro..."/
"Hehe, no prob, Chris!" Leon said dismissively, pushing himself back up to standing position and ruffling his kid brother's hair fondly. "Looks like you've gotten stronger since the last time I was here. What has the Count been feeding you, eh?"
"Better than what you have been previously providing him, apparently," the dark-haired petshop owner commented behind them.
A vein instantly pulsed to visibility on Leon's forehead. "And what's THAT supposed to mean?!" he asked, glaring.
"Nothing at all, Detective," Count D purred with laughing eyes, a satisfied smile crossing painted lips.
The Detective blushed inspite of himself. /Damn that all-knowing smile of his/, he cursed inwardly. He forced his mind back to the original reason for today's visit.
"Chris, could you and T-chan run back to the kitchen? The cookies would be done in a few more minutes, as well as the tea," the Count was saying.
Chris nodded. /"Alright!"/
The petshop owner watched both boy and totetsu leave for the kitchen before turning again to face the elder Orcot. "So, officer, what would it be this time?" he calmly asked, taking a seat on the plush oriental sofa in the middle of the room.
/Damned mind reader, too/, Leon added. "Seems I don't need to beat around the bush, do I?" he began.
"You were never one to do so," D retorted.
The blonde-haired man ignored him. "Alright then," he sighed, face turning serious. "Count, I'm arresting you for the untimely death of Sean Renaud."
A pause. "Who?"
Leon snorted. "Playing innocent, are you?"
The Count shot him a disdainful look. "Don't be ridiculous. I've hardly any idea what you speak of. Who is this individual you just mentioned?"
"Sean Renaud. He's a famous writer of romance novels. Goes by the pseudonym Jacques Marcel."
"Ah, /that/ novelist."
"You know him!" Leon blurted out in accusation.
He was rewarded by a flippant blink. "Why shouldn't I? I have always enjoyed reading his books. His current novel is a particular favorite of mine. A truly enchanting love story," the petshop owner recounted breathlessly. "I eagerly await his next book."
The detective continued eyeing him. "He won't be writing any time soon. Ol' Renaud was found dead in his apartment yesterday morning."
The Count's face remained frustratingly impassive. "I see. Quite unfortunate."
"That's all you have to say?!"
"Well, what else is there for me to declare?"
/A confession, dammit./ "For one thing, tell me whether you've sold any of your freak plants lately to the guy."
D shook his head. "It is a pity, but he has never visited this shop. Which, incidentally, is a /pet/ shop, my dear detective."
"You've given me plants before," Leon relentlessly pushed on.
A pained look crossed the Count's face. "All of which you failed to keep alive for more than a couple of weeks. Yes, I remember."
"That's not the point!"
"Then what is?" Count D asked tartly. "Detective, perhaps it would be better for both of us if you would calmly explain to me the nature of Mr. Marcel's death? Your baseless accusations are getting us nowhere."
Leon took a deep breath, finally plopping down on a seat across him. "It was the plant."
"Pardon?"
"Some freak plant did him in," the Detective clarified. "Narrow leaves, with veins all over them. Weird bulb things growing at the bottom. Overrun the place." He paused, noticing, the change, however slight, in the Count's expression. "Sound familiar?"
"/Fatal Desire/." The petshop owner's voice was muted, his gaze far away and unreadable.
"What?"
"/Fatal Desire/," he repeated. "That is the plant's name, Detective. And that is all that I am of liberty to tell you. I am sorry, but I can not speak further on the matter," the Count declared, standing up abruptly.
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!?!"
D looked down at him, mismatched eyes meeting his glare. "I would tell you no more. It is not my place--"
Leon grabbed his arm. "You're withholding information that may prove vital to a case, D."
"Officer, you know as well as I do you cannot force my cooperation."
He suddenly felt the urge to shake some sense into the man. "What the hell are you--"
"Please, Leon," Count D interceded.
The Detective blinked. Was he hearing things, or had the Count pleaded with him just now? He looked down. Count D held both of his hands over his. His touch was warm and soothing even as it implored him as much as the petshop owner's amethyst-and-golden gaze did.
/His touch./
"A-alright, alright!" Leon conceded, pulling away from the contact as if it seared him. His cheeks burned for the second time that day, even as a familiar heat suffused the rest of his features. Accompanied, as it usually was, by a sudden tightening in the front of his pants. /What in the--?/
"The cookies are here!" Pon-chan happily exclaimed, bursting into the room. Chris kept pace behind the pet, balancing a lacquered tray filled with cups, a steaming pot of tea, and freshly baked oatmeal and raisin cookies. Liberally dusted with sugar, of course.
"The little squirt almost chipped the pot, Count," T-chan announced, padding close by. Taking note of the telltale blush on the Detective's face, the totetsu continued, "Were we interrupting anything?"
"No, you weren't," the Count replied, stepping forward. A pleased smile lit up his countenance. "Ah, good. And here I was beginning to think the cookies would never arrive. Come, let's see how these turned out."
Chris rubbed the back of his head, a bashful grin appearing on his face. /"We already did. They taste awesome."/ He approached Leon, who remained seated, one leg crossed over the other. The boy held the tray's contents out to him. /"Try one, big bro!"/
"Sure would," the Detective replied, picking up one cookie. "They're still warm," he noted. /What had happened just now?/ he thought, casting one final glance in D's direction. The Count appeared oblivious to Leon's current predicament. The hard ridge between his legs was beginning to flag down, thankfully enough. A few more minutes and he could save himself the embarrassment. He sure as hell wouldn't stand up till then. To leave, most probably. Nodding resolutely to himself, he bit into the cookie, feeling inexplicably relieved as the taste of sugar and raisin washed over his mouth. "Hey, they're pretty good." He wolfed down the rest of the cookie, proceeding to reach for another one.
"Leave some for the rest of us," Pon-chan remarked, huffing cutely.
x x x
[Leon's Apartment, 9:34 pm.]
It was already half-past nine in the evening when Leon finally made it back to his own apartment. He felt dead tired, but then, it had been a rather busy day, even for him. Wandering back to the station he'd received a call for backup for a hostage situation occurring just three blocks ahead, and, as it turned out, twelve stories up. Apprehending the icepick-armed punk turned out to be way easier than climbing all the way up to the twelfth floor (the criminal had cut the elevator cables) to do so. Then came the matter of typing up the police reports he never seemed to run out of lately. Miraculously, he managed to finish a couple before calling it a day.
All in all, yet another busy day in the service of the Los Angeles citizenry. Trying and eventful enough to perhaps forget about that little incident back at D's petshop, where Leon had, quite inexplicably, developed one of the quickest boners he'd had in years, right?
Wrong.
For one thing, no matter what he did, it continued to pester him the rest of the afternoon, as had the Count's rather odd behavior upon mention of the plant. For some reason the Detective would rather not explore, the latter didn't seem to occupy his mind as frequently as the former.
/His touch./
He slammed the door shut. He ignored the obscenities the fat guy at the neighboring apartment threw at him a wall away, relishing instead the brief respite the act gave him. /What's wrong with me?/ he thought.
Locking up for the night, he headed straight to his bedroom, fully intending to sleep it -- whatever /it/ was -- off. The ladies in the posters -- the ones that had escaped D's earlier housecleaning rampages and the new ones he'd put up -- all smiled and winked seductively at him, as always, assuring him that everything was going to be alright.
Tomorrow, he would be fine. He would be back to normal, ready as ever to take on the Count. Yes, tomorrow he would get his answers regarding the plant that killed Renaud, boner or no boner. The latter, preferably. Of course.
Those resolutions in mind, Leon threw himself over the unmade bed. He fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.
x x x
/He dreamed.
Nothing new about that; he almost always dreamed every night, no matter how exhausted he was, or wasted. The setting of this particular reverie was familiar, too; a vast desert landscape, the sands glittering like diamonds from the somber light of a full moon. From somewhere near, the sound of water.
He followed the sound, as he always had, and came to a grove of slender palms and rocks cracked by moss and lichen. At the center was a spring, pure and inky black as the night sky it reflected.
There was someone in the spring, he realized; a pale, lithe figure, dressed in nothing but moonlight. A body perfectly white and pure as a lily, droplets of water trickling sensuously down every arch and curve of flawless skin.
The figure suddenly turned, as if sensing the presence of another, and soon he found himself staring into a pair of mismatched eyes, gold and purple orbs which held his gaze as one slender finger traced a slow, teasing path from the stranger's neck, to the chest, and lower.
He couldn't move fast enough. Drunkenly, desperately, he moved to where the stranger was, lean legs splashing awkwardly in the shallow waters.
The figure met him halfway.
It was then that he finally admitted to himself that the figure was no stranger.
For it was /him/.
Growling low in his throat, he reached for the figure, crushing painted lips to his in one soul-robbing kiss; a mouth that tasted warm and sweet and ultimately inviting as he tangled his fingers through hair black as the very night itself. He pressed their bodies close, acknowledging the sensation of skin against skin with a hiss. His hands wandered lower, caressing the graceful expanse of his partner's smooth back, and lower still, cupping his ass. His lover ground lean hips to his in response, impatiently, urgently, hands applying what his own hands did to where he was rock hard and needy. He uttered a hoarse cry, moving immediately in compliance with the silent demand.
And then they were one.
And he found paradise in the other's arms.
And he allowed the water to sooth his spent muscles as they lay by the edge of the spring, a tangle of arms and limbs under the solemn gaze of the moon.
/"D..."/
x x x
Author's Ramblings: How's that for a second chappie? Personally, I think D and Leon's exchange turned out too long. For that matter, I think this ENTIRE chapter turned out too long. My pacing sucks. Argh! In writing the dream sequence at the start of this chapter, I've also skipped some passages from the last few panels of the Donor episode in Vol. 7 (Right? Right???) of PSoH. As to the next chapter, I think I won't be able to upload it for two or three weeks, since I have two Economics exams to contend with, plus in-class reports. Please bear with the delay!
Also, thanks to Elana-chan (a.k.a. Jedi Anna Santiago of #61 Apacible St. Area-3 UP Diliman Quezon City... :D) for beta-reading.
(1) aniki - older brother
Preliminary Notes: This story occurs just after the Donor episode in volume 7 of the manga. Count D appears in this chapter! And Chris! Oh, yes, and in case you didn't know, this is a YAOI (Leon x Count D) fic. Just a warning to the homophobic.
Delirium by spare
Chapter 2: The First Night
/A face identical to his. Except hers wore an expression of utter heartbreak, and his was one of sadness and pity. And fear. Yes, he was very much afraid. "Xiao Mei..." he began, trying once more to placate her, to explain to her everything she refused to know. "I... I'm sorry." He sighed, drawing her closer. "Now, listen to me very carefully..."
Nue Ehr lunged at him then. He evaded most of the blow, but she was agile. Razor sharp nails grazed his neck. She licked the blood -- his blood -- dripping down her fingers.
He stared at her in shock. "Xiao... Xiao Mei...?"
Her face was a tragic combination of childlike innocence and complete lunacy. A face that so resembled his. "If Da Geh doesn't need me," she uttered, "then I don't need Da Geh!"
She launched herself at him then. "With Da Geh gone, maybe Daddy will like me the most!"
The pets fell upon her in an instant.
The order to stop them died on his lips. He had to watch as the pets hacked her to pieces. It seemed to go on forever, but, finally, they were done.
She lay there on the floor like a broken doll. She was covered all over with cuts and gashes. Her back was hacked open.
/Xiao Mei.../
Her eyes. He could never forget how they looked right then, shining with such unquestioning love and trust for Father.
And he was partly to blame. In the end, he could not bring himself to shatter such faith by exposing the truth about their Father. In the end, he was forced to tell her comforting lies, cradling her in his arms as the life faded from those innocent eyes.
Mismatched eyes, one golden, the other violet, flutter open. He sat up over the bed, the pearl-gray robe he wore clinging to his spare, graceful form. As the last vestiges of sleep left his eyelids he became aware that, of course, he had been dreaming. Not that it would make any difference to their kind whichever state they were in. It was real, all the same. His feelings made it real.
/Damn you, Father.../
x x x
[LAPD Headquarters, 1:27 pm.]
"I don't believe any of this."
"You better," the guy at the forensics lab sighed, running a hand through a shock of carrot-colored hair. "I spend half the night running through the tests, and /this/ is what I get? Screw you. Gomez, too. Tell him that, if you ever see the bastard."
"Tell him yourself," Leon retorted tiredly. Gomez had been sent another case to work on -- that of the chopped up body parts of an as yet unidentified woman turning up at different suburban landmarks. The pimple-ridden kid whose ID read Ike Keiferson, Jr. knew that as well as he did.
Earlier this morning, Leon had made his way upstairs, cursing quietly to himself, fresh from an hour-long lecture about proper police procedure that, in Orcot's case, had to be summarized as: keep your hands off the evidence, dammit. The Chief had raised hell once he found out about his little mishap with the plant. And that not six seconds after inquiring about Leon's health in a fatherly tone of voice. Upon confirmation that his subordinate was hale and hearty, so to speak, the police chief had proceeded to give him the upbraiding of his life.
Freed at last, he had headed to the department's forensics lab.
The plant had deteriorated at an alarmingly fast rate. He and Gomez watched as all around them, the plant-thing shrouding Renaud's apartment browned and withered and crumpled, its narrow leaves weightlessly swirling about before settling down and breaking away into dust -- and then, into nothing. The branches followed suit. It was as if the very air around them had become fire, igniting and destroying any part of the plant it touched. By the time the other cops arrived at the scene, not a trace of the monstrous thing could be found. If not for one respected book agent's testimony and the fact that he and another officer had seen it with their own eyes, Leon wouldn't have believed the plant that ate the novelist was ever there.
It had all been as clear as day. Somehow, Sean Renaud had acquired a plant that, quite literally, grew on him a little too much. It was a bizarre, macabre, and utterly horrible way to die. And when it came to bizarre, macabre and horrible deaths, who else was much connected to the subject than the Count and his petshop of horrors? It /was/ a plant that did the author in, to be sure, but hadn't the petshop owner given him flowers and other weirder things with leaves on several occasions? The stuff had not killed him (/yet/, he mentally reminded himself), true, but who knows what other types the Count could have given to his other customers?
This might just be the case to nail D down once and for all.
Now this carrot-haired runt was telling him that, as a point of fact, it was not the plant that killed the famous author. Rather, it was...
"There were patches of semen on his genitals, as well as the front of his pants," the kid insisted in earnest. "Loads of it."
Leon shot him an incredulous look. "So you're telling me this guy was killed by a wet dream? Jesus..."
Keiferson junior was quiet for a moment. Finally, he shook his head. "Not exactly," he said. Hesitating, he continued, "Traces of pollen were found in what was left of his stomach and intestines. The substance is slow to act, but highly toxic. In Renaud's case, it took about three weeks for it to fatally affect his system, but--"
"I knew it!" Leon exclaimed triumphantly.
"Knew what?" the forensics guy inquired.
He wasn't getting any replies, however. Leon had bolted out of there before he could even utter the first half of his question.
x x x
[Count D's Petshop, 2:41 pm.]
An insistent knocking on the ornate double door.
Bang. Bang. BANG!
Unhurried, a tall, slender figure attended to it.
Creak.
"D!!!"
"And a good afternoon to you, too, my dear Detective."
/"Big Bro!!!"/ A seven-year-old, mirror version of said LAPD operative rushed to the door, tackling down the elder Orcot by way of welcome.
Leon barely managed a surprised yelp before the other animals trailing behind his sibling followed suit.
"Your timing is perfect, as usual. We were just about to have tea," the Count declared, his faintly accented voice conveying a quiet amusement at the display of brotherly affection.
/"We baked cookies!"/ Chris piped in helpfully. Noticing that T-chan was conveniently positioned right where he could block the blonde officer's windpipe, the boy quickly pulled the struggling totetsu away as he and the other pets extricated themselves from aniki's (1) prone, swirly-eyed and twitching form on the floor. /"Uh, sorry 'bout that, bro..."/
"Hehe, no prob, Chris!" Leon said dismissively, pushing himself back up to standing position and ruffling his kid brother's hair fondly. "Looks like you've gotten stronger since the last time I was here. What has the Count been feeding you, eh?"
"Better than what you have been previously providing him, apparently," the dark-haired petshop owner commented behind them.
A vein instantly pulsed to visibility on Leon's forehead. "And what's THAT supposed to mean?!" he asked, glaring.
"Nothing at all, Detective," Count D purred with laughing eyes, a satisfied smile crossing painted lips.
The Detective blushed inspite of himself. /Damn that all-knowing smile of his/, he cursed inwardly. He forced his mind back to the original reason for today's visit.
"Chris, could you and T-chan run back to the kitchen? The cookies would be done in a few more minutes, as well as the tea," the Count was saying.
Chris nodded. /"Alright!"/
The petshop owner watched both boy and totetsu leave for the kitchen before turning again to face the elder Orcot. "So, officer, what would it be this time?" he calmly asked, taking a seat on the plush oriental sofa in the middle of the room.
/Damned mind reader, too/, Leon added. "Seems I don't need to beat around the bush, do I?" he began.
"You were never one to do so," D retorted.
The blonde-haired man ignored him. "Alright then," he sighed, face turning serious. "Count, I'm arresting you for the untimely death of Sean Renaud."
A pause. "Who?"
Leon snorted. "Playing innocent, are you?"
The Count shot him a disdainful look. "Don't be ridiculous. I've hardly any idea what you speak of. Who is this individual you just mentioned?"
"Sean Renaud. He's a famous writer of romance novels. Goes by the pseudonym Jacques Marcel."
"Ah, /that/ novelist."
"You know him!" Leon blurted out in accusation.
He was rewarded by a flippant blink. "Why shouldn't I? I have always enjoyed reading his books. His current novel is a particular favorite of mine. A truly enchanting love story," the petshop owner recounted breathlessly. "I eagerly await his next book."
The detective continued eyeing him. "He won't be writing any time soon. Ol' Renaud was found dead in his apartment yesterday morning."
The Count's face remained frustratingly impassive. "I see. Quite unfortunate."
"That's all you have to say?!"
"Well, what else is there for me to declare?"
/A confession, dammit./ "For one thing, tell me whether you've sold any of your freak plants lately to the guy."
D shook his head. "It is a pity, but he has never visited this shop. Which, incidentally, is a /pet/ shop, my dear detective."
"You've given me plants before," Leon relentlessly pushed on.
A pained look crossed the Count's face. "All of which you failed to keep alive for more than a couple of weeks. Yes, I remember."
"That's not the point!"
"Then what is?" Count D asked tartly. "Detective, perhaps it would be better for both of us if you would calmly explain to me the nature of Mr. Marcel's death? Your baseless accusations are getting us nowhere."
Leon took a deep breath, finally plopping down on a seat across him. "It was the plant."
"Pardon?"
"Some freak plant did him in," the Detective clarified. "Narrow leaves, with veins all over them. Weird bulb things growing at the bottom. Overrun the place." He paused, noticing, the change, however slight, in the Count's expression. "Sound familiar?"
"/Fatal Desire/." The petshop owner's voice was muted, his gaze far away and unreadable.
"What?"
"/Fatal Desire/," he repeated. "That is the plant's name, Detective. And that is all that I am of liberty to tell you. I am sorry, but I can not speak further on the matter," the Count declared, standing up abruptly.
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!?!"
D looked down at him, mismatched eyes meeting his glare. "I would tell you no more. It is not my place--"
Leon grabbed his arm. "You're withholding information that may prove vital to a case, D."
"Officer, you know as well as I do you cannot force my cooperation."
He suddenly felt the urge to shake some sense into the man. "What the hell are you--"
"Please, Leon," Count D interceded.
The Detective blinked. Was he hearing things, or had the Count pleaded with him just now? He looked down. Count D held both of his hands over his. His touch was warm and soothing even as it implored him as much as the petshop owner's amethyst-and-golden gaze did.
/His touch./
"A-alright, alright!" Leon conceded, pulling away from the contact as if it seared him. His cheeks burned for the second time that day, even as a familiar heat suffused the rest of his features. Accompanied, as it usually was, by a sudden tightening in the front of his pants. /What in the--?/
"The cookies are here!" Pon-chan happily exclaimed, bursting into the room. Chris kept pace behind the pet, balancing a lacquered tray filled with cups, a steaming pot of tea, and freshly baked oatmeal and raisin cookies. Liberally dusted with sugar, of course.
"The little squirt almost chipped the pot, Count," T-chan announced, padding close by. Taking note of the telltale blush on the Detective's face, the totetsu continued, "Were we interrupting anything?"
"No, you weren't," the Count replied, stepping forward. A pleased smile lit up his countenance. "Ah, good. And here I was beginning to think the cookies would never arrive. Come, let's see how these turned out."
Chris rubbed the back of his head, a bashful grin appearing on his face. /"We already did. They taste awesome."/ He approached Leon, who remained seated, one leg crossed over the other. The boy held the tray's contents out to him. /"Try one, big bro!"/
"Sure would," the Detective replied, picking up one cookie. "They're still warm," he noted. /What had happened just now?/ he thought, casting one final glance in D's direction. The Count appeared oblivious to Leon's current predicament. The hard ridge between his legs was beginning to flag down, thankfully enough. A few more minutes and he could save himself the embarrassment. He sure as hell wouldn't stand up till then. To leave, most probably. Nodding resolutely to himself, he bit into the cookie, feeling inexplicably relieved as the taste of sugar and raisin washed over his mouth. "Hey, they're pretty good." He wolfed down the rest of the cookie, proceeding to reach for another one.
"Leave some for the rest of us," Pon-chan remarked, huffing cutely.
x x x
[Leon's Apartment, 9:34 pm.]
It was already half-past nine in the evening when Leon finally made it back to his own apartment. He felt dead tired, but then, it had been a rather busy day, even for him. Wandering back to the station he'd received a call for backup for a hostage situation occurring just three blocks ahead, and, as it turned out, twelve stories up. Apprehending the icepick-armed punk turned out to be way easier than climbing all the way up to the twelfth floor (the criminal had cut the elevator cables) to do so. Then came the matter of typing up the police reports he never seemed to run out of lately. Miraculously, he managed to finish a couple before calling it a day.
All in all, yet another busy day in the service of the Los Angeles citizenry. Trying and eventful enough to perhaps forget about that little incident back at D's petshop, where Leon had, quite inexplicably, developed one of the quickest boners he'd had in years, right?
Wrong.
For one thing, no matter what he did, it continued to pester him the rest of the afternoon, as had the Count's rather odd behavior upon mention of the plant. For some reason the Detective would rather not explore, the latter didn't seem to occupy his mind as frequently as the former.
/His touch./
He slammed the door shut. He ignored the obscenities the fat guy at the neighboring apartment threw at him a wall away, relishing instead the brief respite the act gave him. /What's wrong with me?/ he thought.
Locking up for the night, he headed straight to his bedroom, fully intending to sleep it -- whatever /it/ was -- off. The ladies in the posters -- the ones that had escaped D's earlier housecleaning rampages and the new ones he'd put up -- all smiled and winked seductively at him, as always, assuring him that everything was going to be alright.
Tomorrow, he would be fine. He would be back to normal, ready as ever to take on the Count. Yes, tomorrow he would get his answers regarding the plant that killed Renaud, boner or no boner. The latter, preferably. Of course.
Those resolutions in mind, Leon threw himself over the unmade bed. He fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.
x x x
/He dreamed.
Nothing new about that; he almost always dreamed every night, no matter how exhausted he was, or wasted. The setting of this particular reverie was familiar, too; a vast desert landscape, the sands glittering like diamonds from the somber light of a full moon. From somewhere near, the sound of water.
He followed the sound, as he always had, and came to a grove of slender palms and rocks cracked by moss and lichen. At the center was a spring, pure and inky black as the night sky it reflected.
There was someone in the spring, he realized; a pale, lithe figure, dressed in nothing but moonlight. A body perfectly white and pure as a lily, droplets of water trickling sensuously down every arch and curve of flawless skin.
The figure suddenly turned, as if sensing the presence of another, and soon he found himself staring into a pair of mismatched eyes, gold and purple orbs which held his gaze as one slender finger traced a slow, teasing path from the stranger's neck, to the chest, and lower.
He couldn't move fast enough. Drunkenly, desperately, he moved to where the stranger was, lean legs splashing awkwardly in the shallow waters.
The figure met him halfway.
It was then that he finally admitted to himself that the figure was no stranger.
For it was /him/.
Growling low in his throat, he reached for the figure, crushing painted lips to his in one soul-robbing kiss; a mouth that tasted warm and sweet and ultimately inviting as he tangled his fingers through hair black as the very night itself. He pressed their bodies close, acknowledging the sensation of skin against skin with a hiss. His hands wandered lower, caressing the graceful expanse of his partner's smooth back, and lower still, cupping his ass. His lover ground lean hips to his in response, impatiently, urgently, hands applying what his own hands did to where he was rock hard and needy. He uttered a hoarse cry, moving immediately in compliance with the silent demand.
And then they were one.
And he found paradise in the other's arms.
And he allowed the water to sooth his spent muscles as they lay by the edge of the spring, a tangle of arms and limbs under the solemn gaze of the moon.
/"D..."/
x x x
Author's Ramblings: How's that for a second chappie? Personally, I think D and Leon's exchange turned out too long. For that matter, I think this ENTIRE chapter turned out too long. My pacing sucks. Argh! In writing the dream sequence at the start of this chapter, I've also skipped some passages from the last few panels of the Donor episode in Vol. 7 (Right? Right???) of PSoH. As to the next chapter, I think I won't be able to upload it for two or three weeks, since I have two Economics exams to contend with, plus in-class reports. Please bear with the delay!
Also, thanks to Elana-chan (a.k.a. Jedi Anna Santiago of #61 Apacible St. Area-3 UP Diliman Quezon City... :D) for beta-reading.
(1) aniki - older brother